Perfection. The state or quality of matching in every detail the definition of an ideal; the pursuit of which is a fool’s errand.
+++
I have said it before: prisons refract life in much the same way that prisms refract light. The direction of life changes behind prison bars—whether real or imaginary. Freedom, such as it is, shrivels in scope and depth; replaced by rigidity, regimentation, and oppressive limits. Shackles around prisoners’ necks, no longer common, symbolized loss of control and emphasized the reality of that loss. After thousands of years of society’s practices of incarcerating people labeled “deviant,” we still do not know with any degree of certainty whether prisons are effective—as means to either correct behavior or inflict punishment. Or exact revenge. We know enough, though, to understand the refractive nature of imprisonment. We cannot reliably predict, though, the direction of change in prisoners’ lives following confinement. We tend to avoid calling imprisonment a form of retribution for breaking society’s rules, but that is what it is. Or, of course, deviating from custom or political directives. I do not pity the people imprisoned for knowingly breaking social rules designed to protect the “rest of us.” But killing those rule breakers is barbaric. Permanently covering the prism with opaque black cloth suggests absolute knowledge of a person’s guilt; there is no such thing as absolute knowledge.
+++
Suddenly, wind rushes through the trees outside my windows, causing just enough commotion to break the silence of stillness. That quick breeze coincided with my tap on the “period” key that ended the paragraph above, as if the forest acknowledged my assertion…or disputed it. Coincidence has a way of placing the supernatural within arm’s reach. And it argues in favor of the existence of unseen forces that we “know” do not exist. My certainty that psychokinesis is entirely phony struggles against my knowledge that I can listen to radio or watch television, thanks to invisible “waves” in the air. My 100% certainty has declined to 95% or less; I now am slightly open to the highly unlikely possibility that a force of nature that we have not yet adequately measured may exist. There it is again: this time, the wind howled in agreement or discord. But the trees did not move. Odd. The sky’s color this morning changes from very light beige to an almost transparent robin’s egg blue, depending on where I look. Are these unusual sensory experiences some form of communication? I seriously doubt it. But I refuse to express certainty when certainty is simply an unproven belief.
+++
I was confused yesterday when my IV fluid treatment concluded. I told the nurse to leave the needle and tubes attached to my chest so today’s session would not require another stab. But, last night, when I took off my shirt, I noticed the tubing taped to me. And it occurred to me that today’s radiation treatment will take place before the IV treatment. So, I need to return to the oncologist’s office early to ask them to remove the paraphernalia attached to my access port; I cannot have it attached during the radiation treatment. When that treatment is finished, I’ll go back to the oncologist’s clinic and have them stab me again before beginning the IV drip. Ach. After today, my next radiation treatment will be Sunday morning. They will be working Sunday because they’re closed Tuesday through Thursday. Then, I’ll get treatments Friday and Saturday (Saturday also to make up for being closed for Christmas).
+++
I ate steak yesterday. A nice filet, cooked rare. That’s uncommon for me; not just eating a filet, but any beef at all. It was glorious. And I had a fabulous, cold garden salad (lettuce, tomatoes, lizard tails, palm tree seedlings), with bleu cheese dressing. And steamed broccoli. All of which led to me feeling horribly bloated later in the day and evening. I would do it again. But not yet.
